He felt the roar vibrate up his legs, through his bones, as the engines groaned and clanked to life. They had only commissioned the clunker for the short trip to the swap point, but Saedah wished he'd been able to choose a vessel. The vibrations of the rusty deathtrap set his nerves on edge.

There wasn't much that didn't set his nerves on edge any more.

Just as the cargo doors were closing, Saedah looked over his shoulder and nodded to Vorn. He flashed the acknowledgement of their 'gods-speed' indicator and prepared for the ride. With a jolt, the ship left the ground at an alarming angle. The squad members grabbed for their packs as the heavy rucksacks pitched across the deck. Thankfully, the small vessel leveled out quickly and flew through the dome of the militia-hardened site to their appointed exit. When the vessel passed through the tunnels, it was joined by two dozen other small transports to provide a buffer around them.

Saedah couldn't help but grimace. The image in his head was that of an old story book. The ships around him were the innocent sheep. His vessel was the wolf shrouded in the sheeps' skin. Nothing good ever happened to the wolf in those stories.

"Our swap-point will be at Halcyon Trade." He stated. When his Formenters nodded, he continued, "We will have roughly five minutes to make the swap before inspection! Have your shit ready!" Saedah had to yell over the insanely loud racket from below their feet, coming from the general direction of the engine compartment.

For the love of the suns, he thought, please let us make it to the Trade.

He refused to show his weakness, though. He couldn't be as cold as he would like, had he been cleared to wear his Skin, as cold as Dirge, but that didn't mean he was going to act like a candy-ass either. He just didn't particularly care for his lack of control over the giant metal casket hurtling through space- which by-the-by was a deadly vacuum. He preferred to chaperone himself. Preferably in Dirge's Pegasus; a filched stiletto class fighter.

"We will not be joining the other squads on the shuttle. We're going straight to Higarin. We will be securing the rally point and launching the surveillance. If the proverbial dross jumps up and kicks us in the nuts, or lady nuts," He added to chuckles at Maryse's grinning expense, "We will not have back up. The shuttle will tuck tail and bug out. The other teams have orders to go to ground if we can't get established. We are the expendables on this shit-for-brained fuckery we've found ourselves in today. Any questions?"

"Yes, sir. Why ar-" Berga began, but the rest was lost to the soul-shaking event that was 'jumping'.

Saedah hated jumps. They always left him completely un-centered and slightly nauseated. His ears were ringing, loudly, preventing him from actually hearing anything for a good minute before they popped.

Mac was still unable to figure out why jumps affected Saedah so violently. It was a rare condition that was not well documented, and one that Saedah was none too happy to have the misfortune of bearing. Perhaps it was a by-product of his mixed heritage.

That was life, though, right? At least he hadn't drawn Vorn's hand.

They spent the next few long minutes in transit in silence. The feeling of Jump, even for those who were not adversely affected, was mildly unpleasant. When the ship finally lurched out of Jump twenty minutes later, Saedah almost lost both his footing and his grip on the hand-hold. He narrowly avoided face-planting on the unforgiving metal surface of the cargo hold.

He was muttering under his breath, still slightly off balance, waiting again for his ears to pop, as his squad began readying for the swap.

"We've reached Halcyon Trade." The intercom suddenly squawked to life, causing Therin to jump and emit a squeak of his own as the civilian pilot spoke. "Identification has been made. We've been directed to land alongside the Golden Digger. We've breached the atmos barrier, so go ahead and pop the hatch, gentlemen. They're ready for you."

"Thanks and godspeed." Saedah replied, lining up to follow his team.

Unbelievably, the swap went smoothly. They all made it to the Golden Digger in less than two minutes. The crew of the ship had been expecting them, but was surprised by their abrupt and silent appearance followed by their equally abrupt and silent disappearance into the half-emptied cargo closets. The ship lifted, much quicker than the clunker, and Saedah could hear his team getting comfortable in their respective closets -- where they stayed for the following eight and a half long, dull hours. Saedah relayed the rest of the plan, which had taken all of five minutes. Then, as he lounged on a box of calcium powder with his feet propped against the opposite wall, Saedah allowed himself to surrender to sleep.

Berga, the damned punk, began spitting out riddles as soon as they received the notification that they were an hour away from Fall; An hour away from Higarin and Duracore Headquarters.

"Okay, Okay." He said, starting yet another riddle. "In a one-story pink house, there was a pink person, a pink cat, a pink fish, a pink chair, a pink table, a pink shower– everything was pink!" Berga sang out in an exaggerated story-teller voice. "What color were the stairs?"

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"Oh, for the love of the gods… I'm gonna kill him," Maryse began, followed by some indecipherable muttering.

"Come on," Berga goaded. "Give it a try."

"Fucking pink. Everything was pink." This was roughly the Fifteenth riddle to have graced their ears.

"Nope! Ha!" he laughed. "It was a one-story house! No stairs!"

"I swear on all that is sacred that when I get out-"

"Here's another," He interrupted, continuing over her grumblings. "A dad and his son were riding their bikes and crashed. Two ambulances came and took them to different hospitals. The man's son was in the operating room and the doctor said, 'I can't operate on you. You're my son.'"

Pause for effect.

"How was that possible?" he concluded.

"No." Maryse spat.

"- The hell?" Therin asked, confused. "I don't get this one."

"Don't egg him on." Maryse groaned.

"Give up?" long pause. "Okay. The doctor was the son's mother. Here's a better one: A woman is sitting in her hotel room when there is a knock at the door. She opened the door to see a man whom she had never seen before. He said 'Oh beg your pardon, I have made a mistake, I thought this was my room.' He then went down the corridor and to the lift. The woman went back in her room and ringed security. What made the woman so suspicious of the man?"

"too easy, she-" Maryse scoffed.

"Radio silence." Saedah growled. They would be arriving soon, and he was so very tired of this routine.

Citram chose that moment to join in the conversation, but only on his end. "Come now. That was interesting. I might have to get Mac to start asking riddles…" she trailed off, muttering.

"Eavesdropping?" Saedah asked, bringing her back to the present.

"Always, when one of mine are out." She replied curtly.

"And exactly how does surveillance and science mix?" Saedah asked for the millionth time.

"One is a fixation, the other an obsession. Take your pick." They were quiet for a long while. "You will arrive in roughly twenty minutes. I have some men on the ground expecting this to be a supply ship needing repairs." There were a few beeps from her end of the line.

"They aren't the desirable type." She continued. "They are going to cause a scene-"

"Tramp," Saedah whispered. "I know the plan. It's a shit-plan, but I know the plan. Don't worry."

"I'm watching." She replied.

"Always." He acknowledged.

And, as planned, they landed in a whirlwind of activity. The urchins came from all directions, intent on the cargo.

The pilots, as per the plan, ran north for "aid" - after letting the stabilizers burn on entry, to Saedah's intense discomfort. Riding through that had been eight shades of fantastic. But it made the story a bit more tangible, as well as reminding Saedah how much he hated when he was forced to be a passenger. Charlie squad slipped into the nearby antiques store under cover of the noxious cloud of the 'crashed' ship.

The elderly lady, holding a boy of around 3, looked them over and nodded toward the door behind her labeled 'Employees Only.'

Just through the door they had to round a floor-to-ceiling bookcase straight out of medieval times. However, on the other side, sitting pretty-as-you-please, lurked the most horrendous grounder he had ever seen. The body was dented. The garish purple - yes, purple: as in 'bright-assed, almost neon, glittery, and more pink than purple' - paint had chipped, faded, and even rusted in spots. It looked like a failed attempt at tie-dye. The tracks on the thing were warped and bald. The textured tread was almost non-existent.

It started, though.

"Man, I really thought we would get cooler toys in the field." Therin groaned, looking over the garish four-seater pod.

"You watch too many movies." Maryse quipped as she sidestepped him to assess the windows.

"We do, sometimes…" Berga pondered, ignoring Maryse. "We get rockets, and bombs; some incendiaries." He was subconsciously running his fingers along the holsters at his waist.

"Yeah, yeah. Let's move, people!" Enforcers would be arriving in mere minutes. Saedah's thoughts were echoed by Citram in that moment.

The following half hour was a blur of activity. The drive to the abandoned south side of the decrepit park was pure chaos. Vagrants had taken refuge in the debris of the area, ambushing the grounder to beg for food and money any time they showed signs of slowing.

The park itself had required some serious intimidation tactics to clear out the homeless. Once they were run off, Saedah appointed Maryse and Therin the job of setting up the perimeter, while Saedah and Berga hooked up surveillance. The park was being reclaimed by the wilderness as the city migrated. The old buildings to the north were being dismantled and recycled as new structures went up to the south.

As the last of the surveillance devices went online, Citram rang out in his head. She sounded pleased.

"I've got 3D mapping up in your area. The shuttle is currently going through inspections. Alpha and Delta have been cleared. Beta's in line." A shrill beep from Citram's end almost deafened Saedah. "That's the safe-house. They will be dropping off packages through the next couple hours." Conclave soldiers were well equipped for smuggling weapons, but they could only smuggle so much, and often just what was on their person.

The materials used to forge the weapons of Conclave did not register on current inspection devices, and the amount of traffic through a checkpoint at any given time made it hard to justify a full search, or even a pat-down, when the detectors didn't light up.

"Affirmative."

Of course, it took another hour before Delta arrived, taking a roundabout path through the city to lose any potential tail before risking the park. Alpha arrived shortly after with Beta pulling up the rear, having skirted the perimeter for a bit before meeting the supply drop and reporting in.

Everyone, even Berga, grew silent as the time drew near.

When their watches chirped, all four teams were sitting in clusters under trees, in bushes, and under one of the ornate crumbling bridges. They had already cleaned their weapons, counted rounds, magazines, and double-checked all other equipment. With nothing further to do, they simply sat as though prepared for war to drop around their ears.

"Let's move."